Upside Down
by forthelulz
Summary: He's still an arrogant prick. She'll always be a predictable swot. Add a dash of snark, a pinch of political intrigue, a silver hipflask filled to the brim with firewhiskey, and a centuries old mystery to be solved - Draco and Hermione are in for whole lot of sexual tension and maybe, just maybe, they'll also find a bit of romance. Post-Hogwarts. Eradicates the cheesy epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Breaking Glass**

A quaint smile brightened her rosy features. Hermione snuggled against her grandmother's lap. The wooden chair underneath them rocked to and fro in a slow yet soothing pace. Her small fingers reached out, toying with the pendant that hung around her Nana's neck. It was an unusual piece of jewellery, a princess cut diamond inlaid in gold. Within its clear depths were thin veins of red crystal that seemed to pulse with life.

"It is so beautiful, Nana," the little girl's inquisitive young eyes widened in delight. "Can I have it?" she smiled impishly to sweeten the plea, dimples deepening in her cheeks, "Please?"

"Not now, poppet," The wrinkles around the older woman's face deepened as she laughed.

"But I've been really, really, really good!"

The child pouted, her lower lip jutting out adorably. Honey brown curls bounced delightfully as she nuzzled her head against her grandmother's neck. Hermione Jean Granger may look like a perfect picture of innocent wonder but even so her Nana would not be swayed. The child would learn nothing if given free reign.

"You must be patient," Nana reprimanded gently. Her hand lovingly petted the child's back, "There is a perfect time for everything. One day you will inherit the pendant just as my mother passed it down to me."

"But won't it go to mummy first?" Hermione knitted her brow, cupid bow lips frowning.

The old woman sadly shook her head, "I truly wish that your mummy would be able to do so but the pendant must be given to family and only within the family."

Her young mind not able to grasp what she heard. With a heavy heart the old woman explained to the little girl the reasons why.

"This, my precious, is a gift that can only be given to those related by blood. Eventually it will be given to you," she assured, making the child clap her hands, squealing with glee, "But it can be used by a special little girl. Do you consider yourself special, my love?"

For a moment Hermione pondered. Her petite finger tapped against her lower lip once, twice, before smiling once more.

"Mummy says that I'm special," the four year old grinned proudly. "I can already read and write and memorize numbers!"

Her grandmother laughed then shook her head. The little girl sulked, disappointed. Haven't her parents proclaimed she had an uncommonly bright mind? She could pronounce complicated words and read elementary level books, both surprising feats for a child her age.

And sometimes, oh yes, sometimes she could make things _happen_.

No one in her family could explain how these peculiar events occurred. Hermione knew that they would spark whenever she felt intense emotions. Like how her toys would spin without her touch when she felt joyful or when pieces of glass would shatter when she would cry.

'_Magic does not exist,_' her mum chided. It was impossible to move objects with her mind.

So Hermione kept these silly events to herself, quietly she guarding her secrets as she stuck her nose to her books instead. For her mummy and daddy were already pleased that she was an exceptional little girl. She felt no need to tell them or anyone else what wonders she can do.

"I wish I could have it now," she sadly reached out a hand to gingerly to trace the diamond's smooth surface, her longing evident in her eyes.

"One day, poppet, it will be yours," Nana kissed the top of her head, "but only someone special can wield it and restore what is rightfully ours"

* * *

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

The greeting accompanied a stack of rolled parchment slammed harshly against the wooden surface of her desk. Bits and bobbins clattered off to the marble floor. Her once organized table now lay in disarray. The distraction jerked her away from her musings, dragging her back into grim reality, and away from memories that she'd rather forget. Hermione Granger lifted her head only to see her superior, Bill Ebenezer Craig, consider her with a look of disdain. She didn't even have to peruse the returned documents to know its contents.

"I don't understand," she bit her lip, chewing on the soft flesh, "I revised my proposal as you have requested..."

"I warned you that the Minister is too busy to be bothered by such pitiful laws," the man's lips curled into a definite sneer, "I advise you to leave it be, to move on to pursuing more important matters."

His words stung. Her temper flared.

"Important matters..." she mimicked as the volume of her voice upped a notch. "Are you insinuating that protecting the rights of squibs is a petty concern?"

Her superior raised a sardonic brown brow, dark blue eyes narrowing as if he referred to an imbecile. He stood tall, dark robes matching his dire mood, his nostrils flaring with distaste.

"I believe the Ministry of Magic should concern itself only with those who have inherent magical abilities."

And that's the snitch apparently. To Craig and the rest of the wizarding population, being born a squib was just one notch higher than existing as a muggle.

Ten years had passed since the day she delved into this hidden world, to a place where everything seemed possible with a simple wave of a wand. At twenty-one she felt weary and jaded. No longer acting like a wide-eyed child who embraced magic with innocent delight. Her principles slowly eroded by war and the harsh sting of reality.

Voldemort may have been vanquished four years ago but the ideals he touted persistently corrupted the foundation of Magical Society.

People rarely change. Old habits die hard. Purebloods were still acknowledged as the cream of the crop even after the war. Wealth, no matter what political climate, commanded power and prestige. Active Deatheaters and their supporters were, of course, publicly shunned. The guilty culprits incarcerated in Azkaban or sentenced to a Dementor's Kiss. The Pureblood and Half-blood families who kept neutral during that dark time now seized the opportunity to increase their social stature.

What remained constant was the prejudice ingrained against the lower spectrum of society. In spite of everything, squibs were considered as persona non grata. Muggleborns deemed a minute minority. The rights of magical creatures often ignored. Harry, Ron, and Ginny may naively state that the Dark Lord's downfall had already brought much needed change, but Hermione knew that bigotry continued to divide their world.

Discrimination may not be expressed aloud but the subtle actions of Bill Craig and those of his ilk clearly showed it.

"Give up."

The harsh words left a bitter taste in her mouth. She fumed silently, gritting her teeth in frustration, eyes glaring daggers as her superior strutted away. Her skin prickled uncomfortably as she noted the heightened interest of her colleagues. Young, old, friendly, or not, it did not matter. All nosy rumour mongers the lot of them, probably feeding the Ministry Grape Vine as we speak. Gathering the rolled pieces of parchment, she flashed a mocking, unaffected smile before shoving everything into the nearest bin. A brief flick of her wand and a whisper of '_incendio'_ set it ablaze.

"As if I haven't tried..." Hermione muttered. The bright blue flames reduced her hard work into a smouldering pile of grey ash.

Her eyes hardened. The ambitions she tried to put-aside rose to the forefront. She could clearly recall the obnoxious sniggers, jeers, and disapproving stares she got the moment she proposed that House Elves should be freed from slavery. Laughable and naive, the Wizengamot deemed her, just a girl sticking her head into things that she doesn't belong in. Being Harry Potter's best friend and a war hero may have gained her much notoriety, but a well recognized name wasn't sufficient enough to be considered seriously.

Leaning back against her chair, Hermione contemplated her next project – since this one obviously ended up in abysmal failure. She fiddled with a quill between her fingers and was about to write several possible prospects when she heard a breathy female voice sigh.

"So you're denied again, huh?"

Hermione's lips pursed into a grim line, she inwardly cursed her rotten luck. The bane of her working existence sat itself upon a chair beside her desk, one slim leg crossing over the other, riding up her garish red robe to reveal more ample parts of her thighs.

"It's none of your business," Hermione glared internally wishing for the daft cow to shut her gob.

"Perhaps," Lavender Brown shrugged nonchalantly, "but isn't it a pity you got rejected when the Wizengamot approved of _my_ proposal."

Her breath caught within her throat, her stony calm faltered. Hermione's brown eyes narrowed dangerously as the fury of a thousand suns blazed within her veins, a cry of outrage echoed in her mind.

"You're lying," she spat the words with forced calm.

Lavender simply flicked her dirty blond hair behind her shoulder, looking highly amused as a sardonic smile playing on her tinted lips, "Bill informed me personally. You can confirm with him if you want to do so, but I do hope it would be announced soon enough."

The complete disrespect snapped at Hermione's nerves, fuelling the fury that raged within her, "It would be unseemly for you to call Mister Craig by his given name. He is our superior, or have you forgotten that?"

"It doesn't matter," Lavender raised a hand to inspect her perfectly manicured nails, "soon enough I'll be moving my desk right next to his."

Hermione felt her world turn upside down.

"What?"

"I've been promoted."

The malicious jab struck like a well-aimed bludger, and it bloody hurt like someone sucker punched her in the gut. Then the whispers began, spreading, increasing; a tell tale sign that her colleagues had witnessed the entire conversation. Drawing in her courage, Hermione lifted her chin, keeping a brave face as she willed herself to stay stoically calm. Yet she could not successfully mask her distress, her pain. Hands curled into fists. Knuckles turned bone-white with tension. Hermione's voice cracked.

"When?"

For a moment Lavender observed her curiously, magenta painted lips smiling sweetly in return, "Just this morning," she shrugged flippantly, "Bill praised me for doing so well, for creating important laws, that he just had to give me a raise."

Blunt nails burrowed deep into the flesh of her palms, her eyes blinking as her vision blurred. Hermione stared at the top of her desk not wanting to see her rival's gloating, triumphant smirk. It wasn't fair. Why her of all the damn witches in the world? Lavender Brown was once hailed as Gryffindor House's infamous tart for Merlin's sake!

It wasn't fair. Hermione worked determinedly through numerous overtime hours, sacrificing most of her social life and free time to do menial jobs and research. Yet, it wasn't enough, never enough. Once again her efforts were set aside, overlooked. The need to get away, to lick her wounds swelled within her. She shut her eyes close, wishing for someone, anyone, to take her away.

A finger tapped on her shoulder.

It happened so abruptly that Hermione nearly fell off of her chair. Wrenched away from her misery, she brushed away a few drops away from her eyes, tipping her head back only to see another familiar presence. Platinum blond hair sleeked neatly away from a fine-looking face. Draco Malfoy stared stoically, grey eyes showcasing a glare as hard as steel.

Lavender gasped in surprise.

"Oh it's you!" she giggled - full on annoying, obviously fake, high pitched giggles - as her eyes brightened with glee, "I have such wonderful news!"

The Malfoy heir's brow twitched, his gaze not wavering away from Hermione's own.

"I'll see you in my office, Granger."

He spoke in a dry, droll tone, and completely ignored the simpering female who desperately tried to capture his attention. A moment later, the blond retreated back into his lair just as quickly as he appeared. The bushy haired witch blinked. Lavender Brown's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her attention roved dubiously between Hermione and Draco's closed door.

"I need to go..." Hermione stood from her desk. With her head lifted high, she strode off towards Malfoy's office.

"Hey wait!"

She ignored Lavender's protests, hastening her steps till she reached her destination. Raising a hand, knocking once, twice, then turned the knob and pushed her way in.

"I'm here," she spoke aloud as she slipped into the small claustrophobic room. Her gaze noticed the minimalist decor; a sturdy oak desk, a wilting house plant that saw better days, and a two-seater sofa so tatty that she'd rather sit anywhere else. The grey walls looked depressingly stark, but at least he'd been bestowed with a separate space of his own.

"Took you long enough," Draco rose from his seat. Crossing his arms, he leaned his hip against the edge of his desk. "Close the door."

A flick of her wand slammed it shut. She threw in a quick silencing charm for good measure. Warm brown eyes met steel grey. Anticipation flickered within their depths. Hermione unclasped her dowdy office robes revealing a simple black dress. Draco deftly removed his heavy grey coat tossing it on top of his desk. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his crisp white shirt, rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. Reaching inside his trouser's pocket, he pulled out a round hip flask. Its silver surface elaborately engraved with the Malfoy family crest.

A well practiced smirk graced his teasing lips. He unscrewed the cap and drank from it and briefly shut his eyes in bliss. Nothing tasted better than Ogden's Firewhiskey, especially one aged for three hundred years. Draco shook his head, savouring the liquid fire burning its way into his stomach, before pushing the precious family heirloom towards the bushy haired witch.

"Fancy some?"

His ancestors spelled the flask to contain infinite amounts of firewhiskey - a feat that amazed her to no end. In these moments she thanked Malfoy for bringing his special brand of poison. Hermione, as always, was quite happy to partake.

"Cheers!" she tipped the container, downing the bitter liquid, chugging it until she could take no more.

Their friendship blossomed unexpectedly, an eventual consequence of sharing a mutual enemy. Lavender Brown has been an annoying thorn in Hermione's life ever since she started working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco, on the other hand, experienced a more peculiar vendetta against Miss Brown.

Apparently, Lav-lav had tried to seduce the blond git several times - complete with an unsavoury display of too much cleavage and thigh.

These unfortunate set of circumstances has brought Draco's love for exquisite whisky into full blown alcoholism. Hermione got dragged into it because, according to the ferret, it was not fun to get pissed alone.

"Bloody ingrate," Draco snarled as he snatched the flask and downed another hefty swig. "Did you see the way Brown was gloating like a prized pig? Disgusting piece of hippogriff shite. I'll bet you a hundred galleons that the bint is shagging Craig and maybe half of the fucking Wizengamot"

"So what dreadful crime did she do to you now?" she re-pinched the flask of wonder away from Malfoy. "Did she grind her arse against your groin again like she did last week?"

She upped her alcohol intake. That certain memory traumatized her sensitive mind.

"Don't remind me," Draco shivered in revulsion. "I might shag a lot of tarts, Granger, but I have some bloody fucking standards."

"Right," she huffed, "May I remind you that you shagged Pansy Parkinson once upon a time?" she pointed out. "My, what upstanding standards you have."

"It's not my fault that I'm a devastatingly handsome and obnoxiously wealthy bloke," Draco sniffed, insulted by her insinuation. "Witches fall before my feet like fucking desperate slags."

Hermione rolled her eyes, swallowing another mouthful of alcoholic fire, shivering slightly as it settled in the pit of her stomach. The git may have an enormously bloated ego, but she cannot contest the grain of truth in his words. Her cheeks flamed as she stole a glance through lowered lashes, slyly inspecting his features the moment his attention moved elsewhere. Her blasted female hormones grudgingly appreciated the changes, approving what she had seen.

He may have been a pale and pointy adolescent but he'd grown tall and broad shouldered with age. His body still slender yet toned. The shirt he wore clung around his body like second skin. With platinum blond hair, stormy grey eyes coupled with an aristocratic bone structure, there is no doubt that Draco Malfoy is an exceptionally fit wizard.

And though the ministry may have greedily nicked some funds from the Malfoy coffers after the war, the loss didn't even carve a sizable dent in his overall wealth - the lucky bastard.

"Well, get used to it," she advised snottily, darting her eyes away, not daring to let him see the bright blush on her face, "she's been pining for an affluent husband since forever. Lav-lav's not going to stop her attempts at seduction until you slip the Malfoy ring on her finger so there's no use whinging about it."

"But I'm not actually whinging about _that_," Draco scoffed before tipping his head towards a set of scrolls trashed within his own dust bin.

Oh, _that_ definitely caught her attention.

She frowned, contemplating what a bunch of discarded parchments meant. Then it hit her.

"So I'm not the only one rejected by the Wizengamot..." her fingers covered her mouth. Her voice trailed into silence.

Hermione knew his proposal was a good one, a necessary law for this peaceful era. Draco suggested bridging the gap between purebloods, half-bloods, and muggleborns by installing a minimal tax to take care of the orphans affected by the war. This law sought to elevate a good cause and she was honestly stunned by his sincerity.

"She doesn't deserve the promotion," she muttered darkly. "We've worked harder than that bint ever had."

"And yet here we are," Draco drawled with a curt wave of his hand, "disregarded and forgotten."

How perfectly did those words described how she felt. For she was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, and she did her bloody best in everything she did. To be overlooked rather than applauded for her hard work stung more than anything else.

"At least you can quit if you want to," she pouted in envy. "You are obviously minted in Galleons. Someone like you doesn't need to stay in a hell hole like this."

He grounded his teeth in annoyance, "I already told you before that I can't."

"But you never told me the reason why. I just want to understand-"

"For fuck's sake, Granger, you don't need to bury your nose into everything! Let's leave it at that."

Her mouth clicked shut, only dropping the topic the moment she saw the familiar scorn on his lips. Since the day they forged this strange sort of camaraderie, curiosity always pushed her to ask questions, but Draco always shut her down. Never budging when she touched a point he didn't want to expand.

"So why won't _you_ quit then?" Draco shoved the question back at her.

Hermione sighed, "I can't"

"You are the brightest witch of your age and one of Potty's best friends. The whole bloody wizarding world bows down to your brilliance and you say that you can't leave a shabby job because you can't?" the blond snorted, "Bollocks."

"Not everyone considers me well clever. Some tack me as a nosy know-it-all. It's not as easy as you think. Unlike you, Mister Filthy Rich Bachelor, I don't have any disposable income to my name. The Galleon to Pound exchange rate is practically robbing me blind."

Draco remained unconvinced, "Change departments then."

Hermione stomped her foot, letting out a squeak of frustration, "I already switched two years ago, if you can't remember. Ministry policy states that I need to wait another two before I can file another request. I'm practically tied to this job and have no other options."

Draco scoffed wryly but raised his hands in defeat. If the brightest witch of their age can't find a way out of her miserable situation, then she's clearly at her wits end.

"Well then," he gave her a mocking salute, "misery loves company. Glad that I'm not the only one stuck in this shitty hole, Granger."

Hermione glowered. Stuck, that word perfectly defined her current situation. Bogged with a job she'd rather leave. Tangled in relationships she'd rather cut. And now this preposterous situation! She drank more amber fire wanting to dull the ache of being one-upped by that empty-headed ungrateful twat. Re-capping the hip flask, she presented it back to its owner - who gladly chugged its contents down his iron laden gut the moment he held it between his hands.

"There, I've had enough," she muttered. The buzz in her head felt pleasant. Hopefully, it would dull the disappointments that haunted her mind. Her hand unconsciously wandered towards her collarbone, slim fingers caressing the pendant that lay underneath her dress. It was her one piece of luxury, her one source of peace. The diamond calmed her emotions whenever her nerves felt frayed. Even now she could swear that it pulsed against her skin.

Draco stilled mid-drink. Curious grey eyes stared at her hand before roving briefly at the globes of flesh of her décolletage.

"Are you hiding something?" he leaned back, narrowing his gaze, a finger pointing towards the top of her dress, "I always wondered about this new habit of yours. I drink my head off to get bloody smashed. You, on the other hand, would touch that sweet spot above your tits."

"Shut it!" she glared.

"No need to get iffy, Granger. You grew perfectly sized tits. Revel in it."

Hermione felt particularly miffed. "You may be my unconventional drinking mate, but you're still a bigger arse than Ron and Harry combined."

"I'll take that as a compliment," mischief sparked in his eyes, "but feel free to grope your tits if you may feel inclined to do so."

His leer earned a glare from his bushy haired companion. His hands imitating groping movements didn't help either.

"Stop that, you wanker!"

"Nope," the git said while popping the 'p', "but fuck, Granger, this quirk of yours is bloody new. You never did that when we were in Hogwarts together."

His words made Hermione snicker. If he wanted to be an arse, she'll play right along with him.

"So you did watch me closely while we were in school!" she smirked teasingly, "How delightful, and here I was thinking that you detested my guts."

She earned a raise of his brow. Draco's hands finally ended their graphic squeezing of imaginary breasts, scorn twitching at his lips, "I would like to inform you that Malfoys never observe peasants. Your guts are too mundane for someone like me"

Hermione swatted at his head. Draco gracefully avoided it. Not a hair on his head misplaced.

"Arrogant Prick"

"Predictable swot"

They shared a knowing glance. He smirked arrogantly. She tossed her hair and grinned wickedly back. Society at large might be horrified at how they treated each other, but Hermione knew that all was fine and dandy when she and Malfoy were at their snarky best.

"Still, you are known as a creature of habit," Draco continued on unperturbed. "You used to occupy the same table at the Hogwart's library for the seven years we were there"

"Six," Hermione corrected.

Malfoy furrowed his brow.

"I ran like a fugitive with Harry and Ron during my supposed seventh year. And I particularly remember you skiving off from school with you being a baby death eater and all."

A heavy silence stilted their conversation. Draco yanked at his left sleeve, lengthening it until it hid the Dark Mark that marred his pale skin. Hermione felt like a complete arse, regretting her words. The companionable mood dissipated the moment she broke their most important unwritten rule.

"Don't," her hand reached out to touch his wrist.

Draco stiffened the moment her fingers touched the mark, jaw clenching jaw as his hands curled into fists.

"Malfoy, I," Hermione paused, not knowing what to say. Should she apologize or would ignoring her faux pas be more appropriate?

The Second Wizarding War stood out like an enormous elephant in the room, one that they mutually agreed to ignore and never bring up. Sometimes ignorance was preferable to reliving the past. For they were bitter enemies once, fighting behind enemy lines. And frankly, she preferred this unconventional, prickly, yet comfortable accord they had built.

He pursed his lips and glared, chin lifted up as he gave an icy defiant stare, "You haven't answered my bloody question. Are you hiding something?"

Hermione blinked in surprise, letting out a breath of relief, thankful that Draco deflected the unpleasant turn of conversation. His piercing gaze turned once more to the creamy skin above the collar of her dress.

"It's nothing," a blush tainted her cheeks.

"You don't do 'nothing', Granger. Everything you do has a proper damned meaning"

She raised her arms up in surrender, "There's no point in hiding anything from you."

"I'm not known as a spoilt brat for nothing," he crossed his arms and smirked proudly. "Go on then. Show me your goods. It's either you spill it or I'm going to prod you until I get the information I want."

Lifting her arms up, she reached back to unclasp the gold chain around her neck, pulling the pendant out of its hiding place, and exposing it to his curious gaze. Draco leaned in peering into the diamond's clear depths. The gem sparkled as light refracted against its surface. It was a beauty to behold. For a moment he kept silent, reverent, and then his breath caught in his throat.

"Where did you find it?"

"I inherited it from my Nan," Hermione whispered. "She died a year after before I got my Hogwarts letter. Mum kept it safe for me since she deemed me too young to wear such fancy jewellery."

And her mum did stash the necklace in a secure place. She found it in a fire-proof vault inside her parent's bedroom a year after she had realized that they were never coming back. The jewel stored within a velvet box coupled other important documents.

Draco regarded her with interest. He tapped the stone with one finger. A burst of warmth tingled underneath his skin. His eyes narrowed.

"This," he declared, "is not muggle made."

Hermione stared at him as if he grew another head, "That's absolute rubbish!" she spluttered. "Have you forgotten that I'm muggleborn and born from two non-magical parents? I obviously inherited this from my muggle grandmother and she inherited it from my great-grandmother who is, if you must know, also a muggle."

The Malfoy heir held his infamous sneer back in place, "I studied the magical properties of precious gems since I was a cheeky little brat, Granger. I can easily detect a magically imbued stone. I am sure of what I am talking about."

That halted her tirade. Hermione face brightened, regarding him with interest and amazement. "You studied precious stones?"

"It's part and parcel of being a pureblood heir." Draco shrugged, treating it like a normal occurrence in his life.

She itched to inquire more when a knock sounded at the door.

"Shite!" the blonds immediately hid the flask inside his trouser's pocket before gently trailing a hand through his hair fixing it back to its combed-over glory.

With a wave of his wand, he summoned two vials of sobering potion from his drawer, offering one to his companion and one for himself. Hermione snatched her share and together they drank the foul tasting remedy, loathing the bitter liquid. The slight buzz in her head instantly ceased, making her miss the feeling of relaxation. Getting pissed during office hours came with a sizable risk but she didn't fancy dealing with Lavender or Bill Ebenezer Craig when she's sober.

Hell, she didn't like dealing with either of them at all.

After buttoning up his coat, Malfoy left her side to pull the door open. To their relief, a bright purple magical post-it flew in. He snatched it from mid-air like a seeker does to a snitch, read it quickly, snorted, and threw it towards Hermione's bushy head of hair.

"Weasel and Potty wants to meet you for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron."

She fumbled to catch the note, not bothering to reprimand Draco for his pet names for her best friends. Her fingers unfurled it to read its content. It was Ronald Weasley's unreadable scrawl alright.

Hermione scrunched her nose. Breaking off with Ron was one of the most stressful events of her life, but Harry will be there.

At least she hoped that Harry will be present.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was the still the same dingy pub. Weather-worn wooden table and chairs awaited guests and magically levitated candles dimly lit the premises. Not much has changed over the years. One glaring exception would be that Hannah Longbottom manned the bar instead of good old Tom. The cheery blonde handed out bottles of Butterbeers, pints of Firewhiskey, or Mulled Mead according to customers' orders. Hermione's hand itched to wave her over for a whole bottle of Ogden's finest. Never mind the fact that she and Malfoy already imbibed a great deal of alcohol an hour before.

The pub was thankfully less crowded due to her arriving fifteen minutes early. A few regulars recognized her face and waved her way. Hermione tipped her head in acknowledgement, always respectful while keeping a safe distance. The end of the war hailed her into a reluctant celebrity of sorts, an unpleasant consequence for being the brains of the Golden Trio.

Draco was right. The wizarding world regarded her differently after the war, but still it wasn't enough to help her make leaps and bounds in her chosen career.

"Hello there, love. How can I help you today?" a pregnant Hannah greeted. Her wavy hair bobbed as she finished drying cutlery and pint glasses. With a wave of a wand, the former Hufflepuff sent everything back into the cupboards.

"I'm having such a lovely day," Hermione voice dripped with sarcasm. She winced and offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Hannah, I just don't feel quite well right now. Work hasn't been spectacular lately."

Spending too much time with the ferret had her unconsciously mimicking his not so charming traits. Malfoy can take her snark and push it back with style but Neville's lovely wife definitely deserved more respect.

"No worries," the blond girl smiled in understanding. "Now why don't you order one of our specials to fix you right up? Our herbed salmon is quite popular these days. The Cottage Pie is delightful and our Yorkshire Puddings are fresh out of the oven."

"Salmon sounds lovely," Hermione sighed wistfully, "add a side of roasted chips and peas, and a glass of pumpkin juice please."

'_There_,' she proudly told herself, '_I still have much self-awareness not to acquire another pint of firewhiskey_.' Besides, she's already been spoilt by the kind aged for hundreds of years. The normal fare would taste dull in comparison.

"Are you dining on your own?"

"No," Hermione shook her head, "Ron and Harry will be coming up shortly."

Hannah nodded catching the implication of Harry's name. Leaning over, she whispered in her friend's ear. "You better take the table at the corner then. It will give you much needed privacy"

"Lovely!" Hermione grinned in gratitude, "and oh, please say hello to Professor Neville for me."

She slipped into the specified table taking the seat that can be seen from afar. Hannah delivered her order with much aplomb. The plate of freshly cooked food and glass of juice beckoned but she opted to wait patiently for Harry and Ron instead.

It didn't take long for the lunch crowd to arrive. The silent pub suddenly roared into life as travellers and hungry office workers trickled in. Hermione watched the enchanted brick wall and the fireplace like a hawk, surveying the throng for a familiar head of unruly raven black hair and a distinct lightning bolt scar.

The chatter stilled. Hermione expected to catch a glimpse of the boy-who-lived, but it wasn't him at all. A lanky red head popped through the pub's floo. Ronald Weasley's arrival reignited the noisy chatter once more. He preened for the crowd, waving, shaking enthusiastic hands, exchanging pleasantries with ease. One would think that he's a politician rather than just a mere war hero, but perhaps his position as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons also added to that.

"Has anyone of you seen Hermione Granger?" He shouted over the din of the crowd.

"Your lady love's right there, lad" One of the patrons patted his back, a finger pointing towards the corner.

Ron beamed. "Thanks mate!"

He shook a few more hands before moving on towards her direction and slid into the seat in front of her own. Hermione dreaded the inevitable. Oh why did she ever consider this a good idea?

"Alright, 'Mione?" his smile wobbled as he idly scratched the back of his nape.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione's eyes narrowed into slits.

"Uh," he shifted uncomfortably on his seat, "he's not coming"

"Ron," she seethed, "is this one of your ploys to meet me alone?"

"I still love you!"

He blurted out the words little too loudly. Half of the crowd started to watch them closely, whispering, tittering between themselves. Hermione cringed knowing that Ron's declaration would be plastered in The Daily Prophet's front page first thing tomorrow morning. Their separation caused quite a stir, the sole topic of gossip for months on end. Everyone hung on tenterhooks, wagering if they were going to get back together again.

She rubbed her fingertips against her forehead, feeling the onset of a massive migraine. "Love was never the issue between us."

"So why aren't we together, 'Mione?"

Hermione bowed her head, wishing she knew what to say.

Love can be wonderful, love can be amazing, but love alone cannot sustain a relationship. No matter how much she wanted to pretend it could perform such a miraculous feat.

Ron was her first in a lot of ways. He initiated her first kiss, stole her virginity a few days after they won the war. They moved in together a week after that - a mistake that magnified their differences and caused their insecurities to rear its ugly head.

Theirs should have been the perfect relationship. On the outside they looked well matched. The wizarding public expected them to follow Harry and Ginny's example by getting hitched and settling down.

But sometimes life isn't as simple as that.

"We can't go back to what we were before," she looked away not wanting to see the man she once thought to be her future. The simple task of chatting with him brought up painful memories she wanted to forget.

"Why not?"

"We always fought against each other,"

"So?" he tilted his head. "All couples row once in a while."

"We rowed all the time and you know it. We were completely miserable!"

Her trembling fingers crushed the fabric of her robe, remembering the days she struggled helplessly against the drowning depths of depression. Everyone expected her to lift her head high, to be pragmatic and reasonable, for her to act strong and responsible despite all odds.

Ron, with his steadfast faith in her, never once assumed she fell apart.

"We can make it work if we give it another go, yeah?" his blue eyes filled with hope. "You're Hermione Granger. Nothing is impossible for you. All I ask for is a second chance."

How can he be so incredibly thick? Pursing her lips, she struggled to halt herself from letting out blood curdling scream, to make him feel the despair she felt when they were together. It will never work. Why can't he see that?

"Are you two quite alright?" Neville's wife intervened at the right moment. A look of concern flickered on her face. The gossiping of the guests bothered her greatly since she knew that Hermione hated the attention. She would never let their rumour mongering arses prey on one of her husband's good friends.

"I'm not," Hermione whispered wanting to cut and run.

Meanwhile, Ron had other plans.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Hannah Longbottom!" the youngest Weasley son grinned. "Get me some bangers and mash, a side of bacon, and chips for starters. And two bottles of butterbeer! How can I forget the butterbeer?"

"Is that all?" Hannah asked politely, knowing that if she's talking to Ronald Weasley, his initial order was barely enough.

"Add in some Treacle Tarts for afters, eh?"

"Your stomach is a veritable black hole," Hermione muttered in disbelief.

"What? I'm famished," Ron rubbed his stomach. "A bloke needs proper nourishment."

Hannah nodded tersely as she mentally noted down his order. She spared Hermione a questioning glance.

"I'm fine," the bushy haired witch gave a shaky smile to mask her distress. The barmaid merely smiled back before leaving them on their own.

"So have you thought about what I said?" Ron nicked two pieces of chips off her plate. He popped the stolen goods into his mouth then reaching out to pilfer another morsel.

She slapped his hand away. "I don't have to think about it," she steeled her resolve. "We were not happy. And no, it wouldn't work the second time around."

"Why the bloody hell not?" he slapped the worn tabletop, sending her cutlery, glass, and plate wobbling.

Hermione once asked herself the same question but she knew in her heart what he expected, what he desired.

"I can't keep house like your mum! I can't act like the subservient dutiful wife that you want me to be! I've already lost a lot in my life. I won't forfeit my career just to make you happy!"

"Well, you're not going anywhere with that job of yours so you can just quit it. My salary as the Chudley Cannons keeper will be enough to sustain us"

Hermione froze.

"Who told you that?" she said in alarm.

She never divulged to anyone else within their circle about the number of times her proposals got rejected. It was something that she shared solely with Malfoy –the lone person in the entire ministry who can sympathize with her struggles since he experienced it just as often as she had.

"I met Lavender at the Apothecary last week," he bluntly relayed. "She claimed that everyone in your department thinks that you've done a botched job. Your superior is just biding his time to sack you from your position"

Anguish and humiliation strangled the breath in her chest. Her world crashed around her. Emotions twisted from anger, sadness to disbelief. It felt as if someone jacked a knife to her heart.

"Please tell me you're making this up!"

"I'm just passing it on," the red head shrugged. "I know you don't like Lav since you're of the opinion that she's a daft cow, but she only shared what she knew. I don't want you to waste your life chasing a dream that would get you nowhere."

"I'm not bungling my life, Ronald!" her voice wailed. "I'm trying to make a difference!"

"Blimey, 'Mione," Ron frowned, "have you lost the plot? It's not my fault that you're headed nowhere with that job of yours. We can just get hitched, have a couple of sprogs, and settle down to be a family."

The knife twisted deeper and it hurt so much.

Once upon a time she wanted that fairy tale life. To have a husband who loves her, a little girl, and maybe even an adorable little baby boy to cuddle close to her heart. But she can't. Not right now when the wound of losing her parents still remained fresh in her mind. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. A sob escape her lips.

But Ron Weasley, the boy she once quoted to have the emotional range of a teaspoon, merely grumbled without a thought.

"I don't understand why you just won't quit it. You're going to get sacked anyway."

Hermione pushed her barely touched plate away, left some galleons for Hannah, and ran out of the pub.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

**My first Dramione story! I'm new to this so please be gentle. I don't know if I got their characterizations right. I do hope that this will whet your appetites for more chapters. I had this story in my head for the awhile and I just wanted to put it out so I can finish my other stories.**

**For some odd reason, my head canon for an older Draco Malfoy would always be David Bowie circa Thin White Duke/The Man Who Fell to Earth era. Seriously, he's British and fits the bill. Just imagine him with his suave, pale and pointy features and make his sleeked backed hair white blond instead of ginger/orange. I'm a big Bowie fan and I just like to imagine him as Draco. Just Google Bowie's mug shot and you'll know what I'm talking about. For some reason, Emma Watson would always be Hermione for me. I can't imagine our clever witch as anyone else.**

**I don't have a beta reader and English is my second language so please forgive any grammar mistakes. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Up the Hill Backwards**

Ron called out her name, begging, pleading her to come back. Hermione swiftly tapped her wand against the enchanted brick wall, departing the moment the hidden passageway appeared before eyes. She stepped out into the cobbled street. Raindrops fell overhead as she passed through the open threshold. Magic hummed as the wall re-sealed itself, concealing the lively pub once more.

Grey clouds swirled in the sky above, mirroring her mood, and casting a gloomy atmosphere on the usually cheery street. Still, Diagon Alley teemed with bustling activity and witches and wizards ambled about the shops, purchasing their various wares. Hermione heard a rumble of thunder from afar. Ferocious winds whipped at her hair. She shivered, teeth clattering, now drenched from head to toe. Chilled fingers enclosed her water-logged robe tightly against her body in an effort to keep warm. She mingled anonymously, just another face within the crowd. No one would dare bother her as long as she smartly kept her head down.

Her tears now flowed, subtly camouflaged by the pelting raindrops. Her once bushy hair clung to her skin in sopping clumps. Hermione traipsed through the crowded street with no particular destination in mind. She just wanted to escape, to forget Ronald Weasley, to stop mulling over his insensitive remarks. Suddenly, a child skipped by her way. Hermione stepped back, twisting her body to evade impact. The act consequently caused her to bump into the tall stranger behind her instead.

"Bugger off!" the stocky bloke yelled. His rough hands grabbed her by the shoulders and cockily shoved her away.

She collided against the pavement, splashing mud all over her robes. Hermione flinched as she heard a definite crack. Crippling pain struck like lightning starting from the middle of her wrist throughout the whole length of her arm. The burning sensation spread like a fiery inferno, leaving her weak and helpless in its wake. The man continued on his merry way, carrying on without a clue, leaving her alone to deal with the throbbing fractured bone.

Gingerly, Hermione rose on her feet, staggering towards a nearby alley way, and braced herself against a sturdy brick wall. Her body trembled as she struggled to keep herself upright. Pained whimpers escaped her lips. She cradled her wrist against the softness of her bosom to protect it from further harm.

Looking up, raindrops fell on her face. The stormy clouds rumbled, wind whipped at her clumped hair, and lightning flashed overhead.

She had to get out of here.

But where will she go?

She briefly considered Apparating to St. Mungos where healers could mend her damaged wrist. Only the possibility of being hounded by nosy journalists hindered her from choosing that option. Maybe she can find reprieve at her family's Townhouse, but she dreaded the haunting emptiness of her childhood home. She'd rather go at night when sleep can take away her memories and the hollow feeling of being alone. No. She flat out refused to visit the Burrow. She'd rather not deal with Molly's determined insistence to re-ignite her relationship with the youngest Weasley son.

She longed to see Harry. Oh she missed him dearly, but he involved himself too intricately with his wife and his in-laws to take her side.

But then again, Harry often sided with Ron. Past experiences rendered that as fact.

Her mouth felt dry. Fatigue overcame her senses. She felt both physically and emotionally drained. The ache in her wrist magnified as every minute passed. Then Hermione felt the urge, the unstoppable craving for drunken bliss.

"Where will I go?" she whispered the question aloud.

But deep inside, she already knew the answer.

* * *

"What the bloody fuck!"

Draco Malfoy cussed as the door to his office crashed open. Lifting his head, he eyed daggers at the intruder who interrupted his hearty lunch. He heavily warded the door half an hour before to prevent any prats from entering his domain. It wasn't any good though. Fuck.

His visitor primly closed the entryway and promptly approached his desk. Mud stained her robes. Brown locks of hair curled into a chaotic bushy mess as if hastily dried with a spell. Her cheeks flushed crimson and her eyes looked puffy and sore. Hermione chewed on her lip, stared down at her feet, and shuffled awkwardly as she met Draco's pointed gaze.

"Can I crash at your place for a bit?" her voice trembled slightly, "I need a stiff drink."

He swallowed the half-chewed steak in his mouth and glowered glumly.

"You've just been to the Leaky fucking Cauldron. They sell firewhiskey by the litre there," Draco pointed out with his fork in hand. "Purchase your own libations. I'm not a bloody drinks trolley."

He leaned back against his chair, smirking smugly as he anticipated her to tell him to shut the hell up and to demand to bring out the damned flask already. Instead, Hermione's lashes fluttered close as shameful tears trickled down her pale cheeks, lips trembling as she drew in quick shuddering breaths. She slid to the floor, arms wrapping around her waist as she huddled herself like a small fragile child.

Malfoy was her last option. She had nowhere else to go. If she wasn't welcome here then... then...

"Granger," she heard him whisper.

She felt a hand caress her cheek. His fingers felt so gentle, so tender against her skin. His thumb wiped away a few errant tears before she was lifted up, cocooned by the warmth of strong masculine arms. Hermione burrowed her head against the side of his neck and took a whiff of the spicy musk of his skin. Draco smelled of leather, whiskey, and something undeniably him. She sighed contentedly, snuggling against his strength, overwhelmed by sensation of being wanted and safe.

Then her body stiffened, realizing who soothingly held her in his arms.

"Hush," Draco's stern voice quieted her fears.

He held her close, allowing her to relax into his embrace before settling her upon the tattered sofa he kept in his office. His concerned hands brushed a few errant curls away from her face then he stepped back, sitting down beside her while keeping a comfortable distance.

"I shouldn't have done that..." Hermione sniffled, resting her injured wrist against the valley of her breasts.

"Feel free to sob like a barmy banshee," Draco spoke, sombre, "I won't mind, really."

His fingers slid into his coat's pocket, pulling out a white silken handkerchief embroidered with the Malfoy family crest. He lifted his hand, offering the folded cloth towards her with a silent persuasive nod of his blond head. Hermione accepted it appreciatively, dabbing the cloth to dry her tears. The skin underneath her eyes looked swollen and tender, her pallor still pale and ghost-white.

"I don't know how to thank you," Hermione wrinkled his now damp handkerchief, twisting it anxiously in her hands. She smiled kindly though a part of her felt dumbfounded that Draco Malfoy – all people – expressed kindness and compassion towards someone he once detested with all his heart.

"I may act like an annoying prat, Granger," the blond shrugged calmly, "but I'm not insensitive to women's tears"

She couldn't stop the bubble of laughter that escaped her lips. Her past experiences found his statement terribly ironic.

"You used to make me cry all the time."

He frowned at her admission. Something inexplicable flickered in his expression. He jaw clenched, the nerves in his neck tensed, mouth pursing into thin line.

"Then I apologize," he intoned deeply.

For a moment, she thought she heard wrong. "Come again?"

Draco arched his brow haughtily, "Surprised that my heart isn't as dark and shrivelled up as you think?"

Hermione shook her head, sending frizzy brown curls flying, "I... I honestly didn't expect that."

"I'm no longer a child, Granger," he straightened his shoulders and met her gaze head on. "I may have been a spoilt prick and a pompous bloody arse but war taught me hard lessons and harsh truths," he frowned slightly, noting her tear streaked face, "but I never once thought that my childish taunts affected you to the point of crying."

"But they did," she whispered, "they always did."

Regret showed on his face. He raked his fingers through his strands of his hair, gripping it tightly before leaving it in disarray. Remorse ate at his insides as his past actions troubled him once more. She may have been a swot, an annoying know-it-all, and an all around busybody who grated on everybody's nerves, but somewhere along the way, ever since they started sharing his stash of precious libations, he had started to see her as an ally.

Maybe even a friend.

"You always seemed so aloof, so unaffected," he confided. "Unlike the other swots I bullied who always bawled like the pesky idiots they are. You always pushed back, always reacted in anger. Do you remember third year?" he snorted and it made her smile slightly. "You, my dear, possess an arm made of steel. My pointy nose is still a tad bent from that time you socked me right in the kisser."

She chuckled at the memory. Her dejection dissipated at last. "You do have a particularly hard nose, Malfoy," she grinned shrewdly. "My hand ached for days!"

He mirrored her grin, delighted that he cheered her up once more. Then his gaze turned hard, scathing.

"Who's the blighter who made you cry?"

She kept silent.

"Was it Potty or the Weasel?"

Hermione frowned, "How do you know it wasn't you?"

"You are not the kind of swot who bawls like a lunatic just because I denied you from drinking from my flask. So who was it?" he drummed his fingers against his leg, brow raised as he waited for her answer.

"Neither," she winced as her injury ached. "Harry didn't show up. Ron and I merely exchanged some words"

"Really," Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously, "then why, in Slytherin's hell, are you cradling your wrist?"

Hermione whimpered the moment his hand grabbed her arm, her pained expression making him release her in surprise. Cautiously, he laced his fingers between her own, drawing her arm closer to inspect the injury. The skin started to bruise in various shades of red and blue. A bump protruded on top of the fractured bone, appearing swollen and quite tender to the touch.

Baring his teeth, Draco snarled her way. "Your wrist is bloody broken and you still wish to protect that git!"

"It wasn't Ron!" she defended, "It was some random bloke in Diagon Alley. Please, it's my fault. If I didn't bump into him I wouldn't have..."

He silenced her with a furious glare, swiftly retrieving his wand from the holster strapped to his side. Tapping the bump carefully, a bright bluish spark emitted from the wand's end. Hermione felt a cool sensation spread like tendrils wrapping around her skin. Her mouth gaped in amazement as the bruising receded into unblemished flesh. Fractured bone re-mended itself, reformed with another intricate flourish of his hand. She gritted her teeth this time, struggling to contain her screams as bone snapped in place. The pain disappeared completely right after. She wiggled her fingers, bending the wrist to and fro. Her jaw dropped in awe when she turned towards him.

"Where did you learn that?" Hermione excitedly burst out, "Those are advanced healing spells and quite perplexing to perform without proper training."

Draco hesitated for a moment. Not wanting to divulge an undisclosed section of his past. But she was Hermione Granger and, against all odds, he had started to commit his trust into her hands. Such Gryffindor sensibilities rankled at his cynical Slytherin heart. Malfoy men never trusted others. This was what his father once proudly proclaimed. Well, his father rotted his sorry arse in Azkaban so to hell with that blighter and his views.

"I taught myself during the war." Draco started.

Her mouth hung open, stunned completely by his apparent willingness to share. She straightened up, awaiting his tale. Malfoy grabbed his hipflask out of his pocket. He un-capped the top, bringing the drink to his lips, and took several swigs before he decided to finally take the plunge.

"My childhood home was invaded by a madman, whom I later learned to be a hypocrite in the deepest sense of the word. I've seen horrors of all kinds, Granger," the hardness that flashed in his eyes disturbed her more than anything else. "I've seen muggles treated like toys for amusement. The innocent murdered and defiled. I lived through bouts torture of the worst kind and considered it a daily fixture in my life. Advanced healing spells became an indispensable skill - several I had to learn in order to survive."

His throat tightened as she pondered upon his words. His other hand clutched at his knee, fingers digging through the cloth of his trousers, and into the softness of his flesh. The horrors of the past reeled within his mind like avenging spectres haunting him still. Draco stilled as Hermione reached out to him, her delicate fingers entwined with his own.

"I studied the dark arts during the war," she softly confessed, eyes glazed with the memory, "I researched hexes for torture and curses worse than death itself while. All while trying to figure out how to kill a madman and struggling to stay alive. I had to be prepared. I learned in order to survive, but I hoped and wished that I would never ever face a time when I needed to cast them from my wand."

"I'm glad you lot won in the end," his voice went hoarse and he gripped her hand tightly in return, "I made your life miserable for years because of a belief that had been taught to me since birth. I never once questioned if it was right or wrong. Briefly residing in Azkaban made me realize the mistakes I made. I was a fool and, perhaps, I still am. You have every right to hate me, Granger."

He turned his face away, not wanting to see the rage, the look of disgust that he rightly deserved. Hermione laughed bitterly and Draco prepared himself to hear her spiteful words.

"We were children fighting for our lives. Mere innocents caught in the crossfire," her tone turned sombre. "I never hated you, Malfoy. Disliked you, maybe, but hate?" she shook her head, "Hate is a strong word and I know deep in my heart that I never felt that towards you. It doesn't matter for I already made my choice. I forgave you a long time ago."

He didn't even mask his surprise, "but I've been..."

"A horrible bullying git," she cheekily continued on, a hint of sarcasm showed in her tone. "Yes, I have every right to speak ill of you but I'd rather not. The Second Wizarding War was built on prejudice and hate. Maybe you don't deserve forgiveness but it doesn't matter in the end. If I don't learn to forgive you, if I won't let go of the past, then nothing will change."

Draco kept silent as he took in her words. His hold on her hand tightened as if he never wanted to let her go.

"You're just saying that because you want to take a swig out of my flask," he tried to tease but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

Hermione chuckled at his half-hearted attempt to steer the topic to light hearted themes, appreciating Draco's need to deflect uncomfortable conversations by relaying witty remarks instead. She released her grip on his hand, seized the hip flask out of his grasp, and happily brought it to her own lips. She swallowed copious amounts of firewhiskey before closing her eyes, remembering the words that ex-boyfriend had imparted to her half an hour before.

"Ron asked me to reconcile our relationship... I said no"

Draco wrinkled his pointy nose as if he smelled something vile.

"Was that the reason why you were sobbing like a fool? Because Weaselbee doesn't deserve your bloody tears - he deserves a hefty kick to his bollocks."

She grinned and slapped his arm. Draco scowled like a spoilt child and rubbed his hand on the spot she had just abused.

"Partly," Hermione admitted as she took another hefty swig, "but there's more. He met Lavender Brown a week or so ago. She said..." her voice faltered, "that our superior been planning to sack me all this time"

Draco pursed his lips, pried the flask away from her hand and imbibed more alcohol before hiding it in his pocket once more. Twisting his mouth into a frown, he stood up and paced the room.

"I figured much," he admitted bluntly, hands digging into his pockets, a disturbed expression shown on his aristocratic features.

Hermione's eyes widened at his admission, "Aren't you shocked about this?"

"I am not a nitwit," Draco's nostrils flared indignantly. "I know Craig's been biding his time, waiting for you to do a major cock-up."

"But why?" Reality was a bitter pill to swallow and she shook her head in denial, not wanting it to be true. Hermione rose from her seat, reaching out to tug at his sleeve. He went still and she gazed into his eyes, silently persuading him to impart an explanation. "Please, Malfoy, tell me if you know something..."

Draco hesitated, avoiding her pleading brown eyes, hating to be the one to bring bad tidings. Yet he knew that Granger eventually needed to be aware. She, of all people, deserved to know why she's been sidelined, why all her proposals got rejected, and why she's trapped in a job that's better off given to interns and temps. His views, he admitted, were speculations at best but his instincts often lead him to the truth. The Slytherin in him discerned the threads of treachery and betrayal and scoped the eventual outcome that might occur.

His grey eyes darkened like steel, "He plans to eliminate you, to damage your reputation, and eventually, he will sack you."

His words slapped her in the face. Realization dawned upon her.

"H-h-he wouldn't!" Hermione stammered and took a step back.

Draco towered over her like an ominous ogre.

"Craig knows your fame and intelligence surpasses his. If he allows you to succeed even one bit, you will eventually knock him off his position. He will do everything in his power to besmirch your good name until you are forced to exit the Ministry"

Her heart constricted. Disbelief warred with her fury. "I have done nothing to warrant such attacks!"

"This is politics, Granger, and people play dirty to get what they want!" Draco gritted his teeth before continuing on, "The successful are the most ruthlessly conniving and they will stop at nothing to achieve their ends. You might be part of the golden trio, and applauded by most of the wizarding public, but these ministry walls are filled with ambitious sods. Power is their end goal and you, with your celebrity status, are a direct threat to that."

She never saw it in that light and, suddenly, Draco's words made sense. The number of times she's been rejected by the Wizengamot truly baffled her. Sometime she felt that her proposals were rejected, not because they were deficient, but due to someone hindering them from being approved.

"But I'm not his enemy. I never challenged him. All I want is to propose proper laws that can help improve our society. I never wanted to take part of their bloody politics!"

She stomped her foot. She pursed her lips curbing her urge to scream. She joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to make a difference, never for her own political gain. The aftermath of the Second Wizarding War urged her to do so for discrimination remained prevalent in the undercurrents of society. She fought bigotry by trying to propose new purposeful laws.

"Your petty principles does not matter," The blond shook his head, sending a few wisps of hair to fall over his eyes, "He will strike against you because he can and he will. Craig is preparing for the long run, aiming higher than you can ever imagine. You, on the other hand, will have no choice but to play his game. Leave, Granger. Quit. Someone like you deserves better than this."

Hermione covered her face with her hands, clutching at her head as her frustrations mounted. Yes, she didn't deserve this, but she had no options. She had to cling on to this job. It was then she realized she had backed herself into a corner with no way out.

"I can't... I can't leave," her knees felt weak, "I don't have enough resources."

All she had left to her name were her family's townhouse and a few measly pounds in stashed in a vault. During the war, she withdrew all of her savings at her building society account in case that she, Harry and Ron had a need for Muggle money*. Obliterating her parents' memories had been the easy part of her plan to save them. Providing plane tickets, pocket money, and housing in another country cost them more. Her parents' savings had been utilized to keep them safe in Australia. What no one expected was that they would be casualties of war.

Losing this job meant losing more than just a steady minimum wage salary. She felt trapped, ensnared in a battle that she never wanted to be involved in. A tremor of fear struck her. For the first time in her life, her future looked bleak.

She whimpered and sounded so helpless that he couldn't help but come to her side. Draco warily touched her shoulder. She leaned into him, searching comfort in his warmth. He perfectly stood still as she wordlessly sobbed against his chest, his shirt dampened by the torrent of her tears, desperate fingers clutching at his sleeve. He rested his chin on top of her head, a hand smoothing her riotous curls, patiently kept silent until she calmed down.

"Granger," he softly called her name.

She stepped back, sniffling, utterly humiliated. Hermione wiped her tears off with the handkerchief she still held in her hand, "I'm sorry, I..."

"Don't," Draco looked away, hating to see the brave Griffindor cry. "Everyone has a breaking point. Don't apologize."

She lowered her lashes, nodding her head. He was right. Everyone has a breaking point and she just reached hers. It's funny how people deemed her The Brightest Witch of her Age when she couldn't even dig herself out of this hole. Hermione could learn difficult spells in a flash and memorize books with ease, but dealing with underhanded dirty politics made her feel as if she faced a dead end.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted softly.

Draco shook his head, disagreeing, knowing that there were several alternative steps she could take.

"You have several options," he held up two fingers, "You can exploit your status as a war hero. Go to Kingsley and explain your side. He'll listen to you and he has the absolute authority to knock Craig off his high horse and give you the recognition you deserve. If that doesn't work, then Potter is your best solution. The Boy Who Lived Twice has a hefty influence within the ministry. Potter might not abuse his fame but this is the right time for him to do so."

Hermione found his suggestions utterly appalling.

"I can't bother the Minister with petty issues!" she spat, "I don't want to utilize my notoriety to gain an upper hand. Minister Kingsley is busy enough re-building our war torn society as it is. He doesn't need to meddle with something inconsequential as petty internal politics and Harry... I can't do that to my best friend!"

"Potter can easily get you out of this sorry plight."

"I don't care!" she flung her hands, "I won't let Harry do it."

"I don't understand why you refuse to understand my point," Draco growled, annoyed at her pigheadedness, "Potter will do everything for you. Use this golden opportunity. Be cunning. Stop holding on to your Gryffindor ethics and, for once in your life, manipulate your connections!"

"But what will that gain me?" Hermione spun at him in anger, "How could anyone respect me? I cannot even respect myself if I would commit such a deplorable act. The Minister once offered me a high position and I rightly refused. I want to be applauded for my own merits and achievements - not just because I am Harry Potter's best friend!"

They glared at each other. Their chests heaving as she finished screaming her speech. Tension sparked within the small confining office and her face flushed, fists shaking as she tried to keep her boiling emotions in check. Draco kicked at the wilting indoor plant to let out some steam.

"I don't want to bicker over this," he pulled at his hair in frustration, "I am not your enemy, at least not anymore."

Hermione rubbed her face with her hand, regretting at the abysmal way she exploded at her one and only ally. He didn't deserve to take the brunt of her rage and frustrations. Shame chastised her pride and she exhaled several deep breaths, forcing to calm herself down.

"I apologize for lashing my anger on you," she said softly, "and I cannot thank you enough for even showing a sliver of compassion to someone who used to be your enemy, but I will not take the low road and sacrifice everything I believe in."

Draco's temper relented. Breathing easily, his exasperation eased. He shrugged his shoulders.

"I apologize for pushing my depraved principles on you. I should have known that you would always be more morally upright than me. Will you forgive a person so morally dubious? Although," he snickered, "my morally dubious ways may be due to me being raised by Deatheater scum."

She chuckled and sighed, "Apology accepted, Mister Morally Dubious."

Hermione shyly smiled at him. Draco smirked back. She nudged his side wither her elbow. He nudged her back.

"Since you have unrightfully rejected my first two crafty and absolutely brilliant ideas - stop pouting at me, Granger, you know it's true - then I suggest that you execute the third option," Draco's gaze pointed towards the jewel she hid beneath her robes, "Loan that pendant to me."

"What?"

He held a hand up. Hermione clamped her mouth shut, halting her complaints.

"I abhor giving away money even if I have a humongous amount stashed in Gringotts. Charity pretty much grates against the Malfoy Code of Honour and donations disgusts my depraved Slytherin ways, but I can lend you a mound of Galleons equivalent to the value of the pendant hanging around your neck."

Her fingers nervously clutched at the metal chain. She shook her head, "I won't sell my grandmother's legacy."

"I'm not telling you to sell it to me," he corrected her. "I'm offering you a loan. Magical gems cost much Galleon and can rack you a decent sum."

Draco casually waved his hand, summoning a small calling card from his desk. Hermione watched, amazed at his subtle yet impressive display of wandless magic. It soared high in the air and flew right into his waiting hand. Emblazoned on its surface was an elaborate logo, an address of a shop in Diagon Alley, and a name she didn't recognize. He put it on top of her palm, clasped her hand, and gazed into her eyes.

"Let the shopkeeper appraise the value of your jewel then inform me of its price. I'll transfer the funds to your Gringotts account soon after. You can pay me anytime you wish when you find new employment. I won't demand any interest either. The jewel will stay within your ownership. I have no desire to pilfer something of sentimental value to you."

His plan appealed to her sensibilities and accepting a loan could truly widen her options. She could pinch the galleons until she could apply for better employment. Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed in disbelief. It appeared too good to be true.

"Why..." her mouth hung open, "why are you willing to sacrifice your own money for this?"

"Maybe I do have a living beating heart after all or maybe this is my way of atoning for my past sins," his teasing grin turned serious, "I cannot reverse time, I cannot change the damage I had caused, but what I can at least do is to give you a way out. You're too brilliant a witch and, believe me, if you don't act now, Craig will strike first."

"Thank you. This will help out a lot." She felt warmth spread within her, her heart fluttered with hope. Her lips tweaked into a grateful smile. "I disagree with you though. You may be morally dubious and a bloody arse but you, Draco Malfoy, have your heart in the right place."

He preened. As a Slytherin raised by Deatheater scum, he was used to being called a knave, a manipulative arse, and a narcissistic shithead. Getting positive praise made him absolutely giddy with delight. Hermione, on the other hand, slipped the card in her purse for safe keeping. Then they both jolted when someone rapped at the door, the newcomer knocked rather impatiently. They shared a wary glance.

"Remember, do not play his game," Draco warned. He smoothly stood on his feet, re-arranging his hair into its sleeked backed coif, and twisted the knob open. The door swung and a familiar woman with flaming-red hair stood in front of his entryway.

"Malfoy," Ginny spat his name crisply.

"Weaslette," the blond coldly retorted in return, still retaining an air of suave sophistication.

Hermione perked up when she heard the moniker that obviously pertained to Ginevra Potter's name. She rose to her feet and rushed to Draco's side, inwardly relieved that the visitor turned out to be a friend.

Draco flashed an entrancing teeth baring grin that could charm the knickers off most witches, "What brings a Weasley to my humble abode?"

"Potter," Ginny corrected him with a snap of her fingers then grinned towards Hermione's way, "Lavender said that I might find you in Malfoy's office. I'm glad to see you again though it's quite strange to find you in here of all places."

Hermione cringed when she heard that tart's name. "We we're just discussing work related ideas," she easily lied, though still technically correct.

The younger woman eyed her curiously before shrugging her shoulders. "Are you free tonight?" Ginny asked. "Harry will be engaged in some important meeting with his fellow Aurors later this evening and I don't fancy eating on my own in an empty house, and -" she paused, a bright blush bloomed on her cheeks, "I've been craving again."

Hermione knew what _that_ meant. She mentally calculated the cost she would shell out if she accompanied Ginny to one of the restaurants in Muggle London tonight. Frowning, she knew she didn't have extra funds to spare, and that's not considering the fact that her confrontation with Ron would obviously be discussed. She was about to say 'No' when Ginny gave her an adorable puppy-eyed look.

"I promise that it's my treat." Ginny's lips quivered in a silent plea. Her hand rubbed her pregnant stomach to guilt her friend further, "Let's have dinner on Harry's tab and have a nice chin wag, please? It feels like I haven't seen you in donkey's years."

"Oh, I would love to," Draco interjected behind them with a mocking little wave that earned a glare from the youngest Weasley offspring, "but you can't afford the please my palate with the all too common fare you can afford."

"Oh shut your gob!" Hermione laughed as she deftly stomped on Malfoy's toes "Please do ignore the wanker," she grinned cheekily as the taller wizard behind her back danced on one foot, cursing bushy haired devils to the high heavens.

Ginny's brow rose in stunned silence, eyes narrowed contemplatively. Hermione faced her once again with a pleasant smile on her face.

"I would love to, Gin"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**I would like to thank everyone who reviewed my first chapter. It really made me happy. I hope you also enjoyed this one. I found writing Chapter 2 a little bit intense with Hermione and Draco bickering a lot but it had to be done to push the story forward. I can't wait to post the next chapter. Hermione's dinner date with Ginny will be an interesting one.**

**To Ramyfan: ****I honestly find it unrealistic that Hermione is expected to rise through the Ministry without facing any sort of opposition. Politics is a dirty game played by cutthroat arseholes that are often corrupt and are aiming for their own gain. I based this part of the story from my own experiences back when I used to work in a corporate setting. It doesn't matter if you have high marks in school, that you have done your job well, or that you are popular and well liked - there will always be arseholes who will try to cut you down.**

**Hermione is obviously clever when it comes to academic pursuits but that doesn't immediately translate to being brilliant in everything else. I've met a lot of people who are book smart but have no idea how to handle backstabbing and underhanded tactics. I also met some people who have average intelligence but are really good in sucking up to those who have higher authority. For example, I used to have an officemate who became a manager just because she knows how to sweet talk our boss. Yes, it's unfair but that's life.**

**As for Hermione receiving money for being a war hero, it never really occurred to me. I thought that the key players in the Second Wizarding War would be given recognition, maybe a plaque and an Order of Merlin for their efforts. I always assumed that it would be prudent for the Ministry of Magic to focus spending their funds in re-building their war torn society – rather than giving it away.**

***I read the part about Hermione withdrawing her savings in the just to clarify things.**

**Anyway, this fanfic is an AU anyway so it doesn't adhere to the canon ending. That's what's fun about fanfics. We get to create 'what if' storylines.**

**Please review. I'd love read about your thoughts.**


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